The Queen's Bastard Read online

  Elizabeth gazed first at Kat Ashley and then at Mary Sidney, who sat with eyes downcast, allowing Elizabeth the privacy of her own thoughts. Wild and grandiose schemes, she mused, of a mad queen pregnant with an illegitimate child. Her child. Dudley’s child. A child of her body. The idea was staggering.

  “Your Majesty, please,” Kat began. “We must think what to do.”

  “I know what we must do,” replied Elizabeth, forcing herself to remain outwardly calm.

  “Tell us, Majesty,” said Mary Sidney. “What have you in mind?”

  “The progress,” she said. “We shall make our summer progress as expected. And all will then be revealed.”

  Eight

  “God bless my grandfather Henry Tudor,” swore Elizabeth, settling back into the red leather seat of her coach. “These roads are excellent still, fifty years since their building.”

  “Aye,” agreed Kat Ashley, herself well pleased with the smooth ride. “Not even the plushest of cushions can save a rump from the ruts of a foul road.”

  Elizabeth, always passionate when the topic was her kingdom or her people, clung to the subject like a terrier with a bone. “Unlike my father, my grandfather had nothing in him of vainglory. He did for his country what was good and wise with little unnecessary spending.”

  Kat glanced sideways at the Queen. ’Twas the first time in all their many years together she had heard from Elizabeth’s lips an iota of criticism of her father.

  “Do you know,” Elizabeth went on, “that when my grandfather died he bequeathed two thousand pounds for the making and repair of his highways and bridges between his principal houses?”

  She thrust her head and shoulders far out the window for a better look, and had to shout to be heard. “Look at this, Kat, how well and substantially ditched they are on both sides, how nicely graveled and raised to a goodly height! And in most places two carts may pass one by the other with ease!”

  “Elizabeth, come in from there! ’Tis unseemly for the Queen of England to be poking from her carriage window like a turtle from its shell.”

  Elizabeth pulled back in, her face flushed and moist.

  “Unseemly to whom,” retorted Elizabeth, “the sheep?”

  Indeed, the royal carriage, four hundred lumbering wagons and carts overladen with bag and baggage, and the full complement of Elizabeth’s entire Court — the Queen’s summer progress — now traversed the wild meadows and silent soggy backwaters of rural England, inhabited more thickly by herds of cattle and flocks of kingfishers than human beings.

  Kat peered out at the desolate landscape made even gloomier by the grey and threatening skies. “’Tis as rough and inhospitable a place as when Caesar found it, I daresay.”

  “’Tis beautiful to me, Kat.”

  “I’m hoping our lodgings tonight are far from any swampland. They are unhealthful, harboring poisonous vapors. Breed the plague. We haven’t come this far from London to …”

  “Hush, Kat, your complaining makes my head ache. My harbinger reports the house to be large and rambling, with sweet and airy chambers overviewing a deer park round about it. And the village, he claims, is free from plague. So have no fear, we are well taken care of. Now let us hope it begins to rain.”

  Kat grumbled quietly at Elizabeth’s last comment. Rain indeed. ’Twas all part of the Queen’s most fantastical and secret scheme for concealing her pregnancy — a scheme, Kat was forced to admit, which had until now worked marvelous well. Few were privy to the plan — herself, Secretary Cecil, Robin Dudley, his sister and brother-in-law the Sidneys. Elizabeth insisted it was elegantly simple and foolproof if followed to the letter. Kat found it agonizingly complicated and contrived — and riddled with opportunity for exposure. All it would take was one misstep, one unexpected glimpse by a pair of unfriendly eyes, one tiny mote of foul luck. But blessedly, luck had so far been on their side.

  After only a month of nausea, which was put down to the flux, Elizabeth had regained her good health and cheerful disposition. Since she had never bled with the moon’s cycle, her lesser waiting ladies were none the wiser. The idea had been to begin the progress in late June, heading out for stays of a fortnight or more to the Queen’s several residences — Oatlands, Richmond, Eltham, Hampton Court — and also to the closest country houses and estates owned by her most important nobles. Here she had shown herself publicly, in the earliest stages of her pregnant condition, before it had become apparent.

  Kat recalled Elizabeth’s almost childlike enthusiasm as they had approached Richmond Palace, its towers and pinnacles rising like a fairy castle from a cloud of pale pink blossoms, for the cherry orchard surrounding it was enormous. They had passed the gilt aviary filled with exotic birds from many lands, and arrived at the front gate ablaze with heraldic decorations to a joyful welcome of song and dance accompanied by pipe and tabor.

  The entertainments at Richmond had been magnificent, the already fabulous royal residence outfitted for sheer pleasure. Out of the store-houses came bedsteads of marble and gilt, cloth of gold window carpets latticed with diamonds and silver. Each meal was more lavish than the one before. A single course might consist of chickens, pigeons, dotterels, pee-wits, gulls, pastries, and oysters. Food appeared in elaborate shapes — castles, animals, even human forms. And wine was over flowing. Elizabeth, who generally partook most sparingly, enjoyed her food with great gusto, surprising and delighting the castle cooks.

  But most magical — and what Elizabeth loved above all, a remembrance from childhood — were the dozens of palace towers, each capped with a bulbous onion dome and a tall vane, which, together in a high wind, became like the strings of an Aeolian harp. The Queen had woken each morning of her stay hoping for a storm, and was finally granted her wish on a dark afternoon in July. As the gusting increased, Elizabeth had hastened out the front gate, and despite Kat’s and Mary Sidney’s many pleadings had stood, hair and skirts flapping wildly about her, beneath the marvelous instrument made of the castle towers, and listened to the strange and otherworldly music, entirely enraptured.

  Elizabeth was slender, and her belly had hardly swollen until her sixth month. Wearing clever padding in the stomacher, and other rigged undergarments routinely worn by ladies hoping to conceal their delicate condition, Elizabeth had been able to maintain the appearance of normalcy, though curtailing the most strenuous of exercise, until well into August.

  The second stage of the scheme was then begun. The Queen, with Robin Dudley’s assistance, had laid out her route of travel with the utmost precision. From August on, she would limit the number of her immediate entourage to the chosen few. She avoided as many great houses as possible, those whose lords and ladies knew her intimately and might construe her behavior as strange or untoward. Happily, the nature of the progress was such that the royal harbinger might ride out to a great estate or a more humble residence and announce the Queen’s impending arrival on the following day. With such scant warning, the equally honored and horrified hosts were then required to scramble into hasty preparations to bed, feed, and lavishly entertain the Queen’s enormous retinue. With but a few no-table exceptions, no one in the kingdom actually expected her arrival, so she could wander at will through the countryside, make arrangements and cancel them, compensating her disappointed and no doubt relieved hosts with a generous gift. When she was forced to personally appear at an accommodation, great commotion and feigned illness upon arrival could spirit the Queen to her rooms without much ado. Sometimes Mary Sidney, in Elizabeth’s clothing and high-heeled shoes to approximate Elizabeth’s height, and swathed in veils, played proxy whilst the Queen elsewhere sought lodgings as a plain lady with her husband, Robert. Thankfully, most stays were but a day or two.

  She made much use of a canopied but otherwise open-sided carriage in which she could ride, waving to her subjects, through gaily decorated villages, watch a country dance, or a pageant presented by a town of weavers, listen raptly to a child’s sweet recital of verse, or sit through a morbid
morality play. No one ever suspected that this gracious and beloved queen was heavy with child.

  As her pregnancy became undeniable, and because the planned route was unable to avoid several great estates of the high peerage, the third and most dangerous stage of the Queen’s scheme was brought into action. Today, thought Kat with trepidation, Elizabeth would be welcomed at Fulham House, where she was to lodge with Lord Clinton and his family for a fortnight. ’Twas a frightfully audacious plan, and it rested wholly for success on the weather’s turning rainy. Though the sky was threatening, there were too few miles before they would reach Fulham, and the rain had not yet begun. Kat peered up at the sky pleadingly and then at Elizabeth, unable to hide her worry.

  “I know, Kat, I know,” she said soothingly. “But we still have miles to go.”

  “But what if it doesn’t rain!”

  Elizabeth sighed in exasperation. “Then I shall stop the progress and call for a picnic. Then it will most certainly rain! Come, Kat, please be of good faith. All has gone well and will continue so.”

  “How are you so sure always that things will go your way?”

  “Because,” replied Elizabeth evenly, “this child is meant to be born. ’Twas written in the stars — and foretold by a great magician. My son …”

  Elizabeth’s voice trailed off, but Kat Ashley did not press the Queen to continue. For she wished to hear no details of the strange fate and future of this bastard child — some mad intrigue to send him far from Court to be raised by Elizabeth’s distant but trusted relations, to live secret and unknown until the time the Queen deemed it safe and politic for him to be brought forward and acknowledged. Sweet Jesus, they were all a heartbeat away from disaster!

  The coach came to a sudden halt, and at once Robin Dudley on horseback reined up beside Elizabeth’s window. “The advance guard from Fulham has arrived to escort us the final distance to our lodgings, Your Majesty. Two hundred liveried horsemen. Lord Clinton’s household is in prodigious readiness.” He flashed a conspiratorial smile at the Queen. “And the rain has begun up ahead.”

  “Good. Are your sister and brother-in-law ready for the play to begin?” she inquired of him with a sly grin.

  “As you would have them, Madame.” Dudley reached down impulsively and kissed Elizabeth’s hand.

  Kat looked away, exceedingly annoyed. They were all acting like willful children playing a dangerous game. They were enjoying themselves. Well, thought Kat Ashley, this game could have no happy winners. She would have to take these unruly children in hand.

  The rain was streaming in sheets across the landscape as the procession neared Fulham House. Though Elizabeth knew that Lord Clinton’s waterlogged welcome would be disappointing to him, she was most gratified that the weather was complying with her own well-laid plans.

  Lord Clinton, his family and retainers, and a choir of singing children stood under canopies upheld by liveried servants as the Queen’s royal guard, a regiment of equerries, and a dozen carriages carrying her chamberlains, Privy Councillors, and the Archbishop of Canterbury with fifty of his own horsemen approached and moved beyond the front gate. There followed a coach with Cecil and the Sidneys. And finally, attended by Horsemaster Robin Dudley, Elizabeth’s own carriage clattered to a stop in front of their hosts.

  Robin swung down from his mount and, when a footman opened the door to the royal coach, was ready with his hand as the Queen emerged in a voluminous, hooded leather rain cloak. There was a flurry of activity as Henry Sidney and William Cecil descended from their carriage and helped Kat and Mary Sidney down, each lady wearing a rain cloak similar to the Queen’s, as though it were a new fashion.

  With only a brief nod to a chagrined Lord Clinton, Elizabeth and her retinue swept across the moat bridge into Fulham’s courtyard. ’Twas a pleasant enough brick house with the typical Tudor jumble of towers, gables, and chimney stacks, but Elizabeth hurried past the gathered house-hold staff huddled under waxed tarpaulins, through the front door, and into the vestibule.

  Lowering her hood but retaining her cloak, Elizabeth waited for Lord Clinton and his family, who gathered near the Queen in a rush of warm greetings and courtly obeisance.

  “Your Majesty, we welcome you most heartily to Fulham!” Clinton stretched out his hand to take Elizabeth’s to kiss, but she pulled back so sharply he was startled.

  “I am terribly sorry, my lord Clinton, but I fear I am unwell,” said Elizabeth with an expression of sincere regret.

  “Unwell?” cried Lady Clinton, a stout, plain-faced woman whose rich attire could do nothing to improve her appearance. “Selby!” The house steward appeared instantly at her side. “Call Doctor Williams here at once. Your Majesty, our physician may be a rural man, but he is well known for his —”

  “You do not understand, good lady. My symptoms are consistent with smallpox.”

  There was a general sharp intake of breath in the vestibule. Elizabeth could see several people discreetly step back from her. Admirably, Lord and Lady Clinton stood their ground, though their faces had gone suddenly pale and stricken.

  “Unhappily I must therefore command you all to vacate this household with haste,” announced Elizabeth. “My people will see to me. Wish me well and be off as quickly as you are able. My apologies for your inconvenience.”

  “But, Your Majesty, we could not possibly leave you —”

  “Lord Clinton, I will not be responsible for any illness in your house-hold. Have your steward show us to our rooms, and our cooks to your kitchens. My retinue will lodge in tents outside.”

  Elizabeth’s eyelids fluttered and she staggered slightly, reaching for Robin Dudley’s ready hand.

  “Please, I must take my rest now.”

  “Of course, of course,” murmured Clinton, bowing and moving backwards from the Queen. “If there is anything at all I can do …”

  But Elizabeth and her intimates were already moving up the great staircase.

  “Pray Jesus she does not die here,” muttered Lady Clinton to her husband. “What a curse that would be.”

  “But if she lives, ’twill be a blessing,” said her husband, “for she will remember this house with affection.”

  Lady Clinton leaned close and whispered so that no one else should hear. “We shall save five thousand pounds just on the entertainments,” she said.

  As the family and servants dispersed to gather their things and be off, Lady Clinton noticed a solemn and faraway look clouding her husband’s face. “What is it, John?” she asked.

  “If Elizabeth dies,” he answered, “she dies without an heir. Things will go badly for England. Very badly indeed. Assemble the family in the chapel at once, Margaret. We must pray for the life of the Queen.”

  “Well done, Your Majesty!” cried Mary Sidney as she removed Elizabeth’s cloak, which had admirably concealed the now prominent bulge of Elizabeth’s belly.

  The royal entourage behind the closed doors of Fulham’s upstairs apartments were preparing to take their rest from the long day’s ride, and collapsing with relief after the Queen’s undeniably polished performance.

  “Summon my physician!” cried Elizabeth with a theatrical moan. “I’ve broken out in spots!”

  “Poor Lady Clinton,” said Mary Sidney, unable to suppress a smile. “She looked rather disgruntled.”

  “Think you? I wager she’s counting the money saved on the entertainments and feasts she’ll not be lavishing upon us,” said Robin, making a survey of the spacious bedchamber, checking its windows and doors, looking carefully for any secret compartments or hidden passageways.

  “Come, Elizabeth,” said Kat. “Sit you down or, better still, get into bed for a proper rest.”

  “I’m not tired in the least, Kat. I feel wonderful,” replied Elizabeth.

  “You’re a pregnant woman and you have had a grueling day. You shall rest, Madame, if I have to sit atop you and hold you down.”

  Robin and the Sidneys burst into laughter at Kat’s rude familiarity, kn
owing the Queen forgave such trespasses. Finally Elizabeth relented and gave herself over to Kat’s ministrations.

  “Gentlemen, leave us. I’m about to be untrussed and put to bed by my lady Ashley. See to our supper, Robin. Ask the cook for simple fare — some poultry and a cold pie.”

  Robin and Henry kissed Elizabeth’s hand, bowed low, and left the Queen with her women. As they began unlacing and unbuttoning her gown, Elizabeth gazed down at the extra panels hanging loose over her bulging belly and smiled.

  “A child of my body,” said Elizabeth in a hushed whisper. Even if she had spoken the words more loudly she doubted whether Kat or Mary Sidney would have heard, for they were deep asleep on their pallets at the foot of her bed, exhausted after the long day’s journey to Fulham House. But the Queen was hardly weary. Indeed, she had of late been infused with a startling vitality, an ever-present wakefulness and clarity of mind that all about her wondered at it. But Elizabeth understood. ’Twas the thing John Dee had seen in his black gazing crystal — a life, a soul, growing within her, which made her something more than herself. She was, in this body of hers, two people, and it gave her new strength.

  Many months before, when Dee had foretold that she should bear a son, Elizabeth had balked, shunned the truth of it for fear that it would forever brand her a wanton or, if she were forced to legitimize the child, trap her in an unwanted marriage. Either eventuality could weaken her position irrevocably, wrest the hard-won monarchical power from her hands.

  But in the months following the seer’s revelation, as the babe grew within her, so grew a new determination, a strength of purpose. And so grew a love that knew no bounds, a love over which the Queen, who had long ago mastered her emotions, had no control. She knew this was irrational. Irrational, too, was her unshakable belief that she would survive the delivery, that this child was fated to be born and live long. So many women miscarried their babies, so many infants and mothers died in childbirth or soon after. Her own mother had miscarried three times.